I had this funny sort of realization yesterday afternoon whilst in the white room making paper molds for some enameling hopes I have. I heard the neighbor’s dogs yapping in her yard, I heard some boys down the road hollering and there was a bit of rain splattering against the half circle window that graces the white room with so much gorgeous light — I realized that the quiet of winter has melted away. You know how much I adore winter. I love the white hush of it. I truly do. It stills my soul. Once all that icy insulation melts away the world tends to get noisy. Let me tell you something about noise, it’s quite contrary to my personality because I’m a rather bombastic, high energy individual and I tend to speak in bursts of exclamations, but I do not like noise. Too much of it, especially when I am working or writing, tends to make my mind feel like it’s unraveling! Oh! It makes me feel like I’m standing on the precipice of insanity. Noise is my nemesis while I’m at work in the studio. It’s funny, on occasion, when I get around to fabricating I will blare music in my workspace and really jam around while I’m soldering or sawing but most of the time I need the serene, soft winking of classical music (piano mostly) and even this, at times, is too much. In the summer, when the neighborhood is loud, I often play music very loudly in the studio in an attempt to mask the outside world, regardless, I often feel disrupted by the noise that filters in past the walls and glass.
This is all to say I had the full sensation of the arrival of spring yesterday and usually, this would make me feel blue, because it would mean that Rob’s departure for the fire season would be at hand. But not this year. This year I depart with him for the duration of the fire season and I find myself greatly anticipating the move. I shouldn’t speak of it, so as not to jinx it or let my hopes rise to stratospheric heights before the details are set in stone, but we’re in the final moments of officially renting an acreage outside of Winthrop. The property is lovely and there’s even a sort of lookout tower built just up from the house that I will most likely claim as a creative work space. It features massive windows that look out into unfettered space. There is a hen coop for the chickens, a little orchard, an aviary, a full acre of fenced garden, a barn and the most charming little rustic Methow Valley house you have ever seen, complete with a myriad of windows and character. So you see, I cannot contain my excitement, I’m going to explode! If something unforseen takes place and we end up not living on this acreage, I will surely cry. I’m so enchanted by the promise of rural seclusion this summer, a quiet work space, being with Robert during the six months we are usually apart, having coffee with Hannah nearly every single morning…and I’m also excited about feeling and experiencing how a new territory, how a new geographic location and environment affects me. Already my trigger finger is itching, I want to photograph it all and catch the new ways the light falls through a different kind of forest. I want to bundle up the sensations of it in words, for you, for me, and then spill it across paper with a fine tipped pen.
The waiting is nearly too much to bear. I have to wedge myself into this very moment I’m living or a breeze will catch the edges of me and take me away. Some bird will pluck me like a seed, out of thin air, and carry me aloft in its beak.
It’s been such a funny sort of week here. Hithery and dithery. I’m clad in running gear at the moment and am about to take the pointers out for some exercise. Yesterday we noticed our gardens that receive full, hot sunlight during the day are showing the tiny chartreuse tips of tulips beginning to push up through the dirt. There’s divinity in the mush of mud under foot, sections of grass are beginning to green, the sway of bird song is raining down from the elm trees. How blessed are we to be part of a world that is reborn every single year in so many different ways? I’m in love with it.
Have a wonderful Friday, you beauties.